My Little Sister Can’t Be Cute (At All)

Early in the wee hours one night in late June, the anime series Chevalier of the Absolute World aired its final episode on TV.

Based on the light novel of the same name, the show had boasted terrible art direction from the very first episode and mediocrity in almost every other aspect, from scripting to character and mech designs to the voice cast’s performance. It was panned, berated, and laughed at online as the “Shittiest Anime of the Season,” even by people who never watched a frame of it.

Haruto Fuwa, the original story writer, watched this final episode alone in his room. He had considered inviting everyone over to Itsuki’s apartment and making it into a party, like with the premiere a few months back, but it was easy to picture how painful the experience would be, so he opted against it. It’d just be raining on Itsuki’s parade right when he was all excited about his own anime, no doubt—and besides, he didn’t want to look pathetic in front of Miyako, a girl he had a growing crush on.

The concluding episode was just as awe-inspiringly awful as the others. The main cast did get around to defeating a mid-boss-level foe, but the series as a whole ended with a vast number of mysteries and plot elements left wholly unresolved. They went with that ending in anticipation of a sequel, but at this rate, there was no way the DVDs or Blu-rays would sell at all, and a season two was out of the question. (Even if it weren’t, Haruto would’ve turned it down anyway.)

For the time being, he tweeted “Thanks for watching the final ep of the anime! Let’s give the staff and cast a big hand for all their hard work! Watch for the DVD/BD release, too!” and turned off his PC. He was too scared to see what kind of replies his followers would give him.

“Ughh… Well, at least it’s over now…”

He sighed—a deep sigh that almost took his soul with it—and leaned against the back of his chair. It had been about a year and a half since his editor told him about the anime project. All that time, the anime had occupied a large part of Haruto’s mind and work activity. He attended meet and greets with the director, the scriptwriter, the producer, and the rest of the main staff. He joined in their production meetings, nights out drinking, cast auditions, script conferences. He did the supervision work he was asked for. He attended the recording sessions, held interviews, wrote an entire new novel as a bonus for the DVDs…and then it premiered. And wound up being the worst anime ever.

Still, Haruto harbored no feelings of resentment or disgust toward the people behind it. After all, he thought, it was hard work, but…you know…it was kinda fun, too.

The utter embarrassment when the voice actors shouted out the lines he wrote in loud, bold voices during the auditions. The excitement when he saw the final character and mech design sheets. The pounding of his heart when he heard the opening and background tracks. The sense of accomplishment after butting heads with people during the script sessions. The joy at seeing life breathed into his characters at the recording studio. The happiness at being a core member of the team behind an anime, a genre of media he’d enjoyed since childhood. When he was wading in the midst of it all, Haruto had a total blast.

The past three months of airings had been an ordeal. Week after week, he could feel his heart being torn out. He didn’t want to pretend the fun he had never existed—but it’d be hard on him, admittedly, if he couldn’t divide the fun memories from the bitter experiences in his mind.

“…Too bad we couldn’t have just made the anime and never broadcast it on TV.”

That way, he figured, at least they could bask in the fun of creativity without a deadline breathing down their necks. They wouldn’t be subject to a barrage of vitriol from irresponsible, insensible haters who weren’t even consumers of the content. It was a silly thought, but it made Haruto’s lips curl into a smile.

“…It takes, what, about ten or twenty million yen to make a thirty-minute anime episode? A twelve-episode season would be around two hundred million. If I had that much… Well, no, if I want to keep the quality high, I’ll want at least three hundred million… Boy. Ha-ha… Oof.”

He could’ve pooled all the royalties from the Chevalier of the Absolute World novels, plus the cut he received from the anime and merchandise, and it’d still be a drop in the bucket.

“…All right,” he muttered. “I’ll just have to sell ten times as many books and get that three hundred mil saved up. Then I can make an anime all for myself!”

It was a joke, but still about one-fifth the truth. He grinned at himself and stood up off the chair. His head was too messed up to sleep well yet, but he wasn’t in any mood to tackle work. This was the perfect time for a drink.

So he headed downstairs and plucked a bottle of Bierblomme from the kitchen cabinet. Despite having “bier” in the name, this was actually a distilled liquor, a type of brandy. The name, meaning “beer flower” in Dutch, comes from the flowers of the hop plant used in both its and beer’s production.

He placed a glass on the living-room table and filled it up from the bottle. The smooth, clear liquid, 40 percent alcohol by volume, smelled pleasantly of herbs and made a satisfying glug-glug on its way out of the container. He filled his glass halfway and tossed a few ice cubes inside. Before they started to melt, he brought it to his lips, gave it a furtive lap with his tongue, and allowed the warmth from the alcohol—a pleasant contrast to the mild, mellow mouthfeel—spread across his mouth.

For someone who mostly drank beer that was 5–10 percent alcohol, this was pretty potent stuff. He had Itsuki try it once, warning him to be careful with it, but he had gone and drained it like a lager anyway and immediately coughed most of it up on the floor. Haruto wasn’t much of a liquor aficionado himself, so he used his tongue to play with the taste a little, mixing up the gentle sweetness with the strong alcohol, taking care not to swallow too much at once.

He enjoyed the sensation of the warmth running down his throat and throughout every vein of his body, the exhilarating scent of the spirit on his breath. Then he picked up the glass again, sipping just a little more—

“What’re you doing?”

“Bopph!”

Haruto was so shocked at the voice behind him that he wound up swallowing the whole mouthful. It was either that or spew it all over the table, but it set his esophagus on fire.

“Ngg…?! Kaff! Agh! Kahha!”

“Are you all right, Bro?!” Haruto’s younger sister asked in a panic.

“Keff keff… Haccck! Koff…………hahh, hahh… Whewwwww.”

Once he recovered, Haruto looked reproachfully at his sister as he wiped his mouth with a towel.

“I swear… Don’t scare me like that, dumbass…”

His sister glared right back at him, face reddened. “What?! It’s not my fault that scared you! Don’t blame me!”

“Oh, shut up. Why are you even awake right now?”

“Wh-what’s it matter to you?! I just had insomnia, so I thought I’d go have some tea, that’s all!”

“Oh? Well, don’t drink too much and wet the bed again.”

“What?! I never wet the bed! How stupid are you?!”

“Kind of hard to believe coming from someone who wet the bed in the eighth grade.”

The malicious swipe from Haruto only made his sister’s face redder.

“I— That— I just drank too much juice that day! That was the only time since I started middle school!”

“It still means you’re a middle-school bed wetter,” Haruto calmly pointed out.

“You… Nnnng, nnggghhhhhhh!!”

Finding nothing left to counter with, she fumed as tears began to form in her eyes. Haruto thought about teasing her some more but decided not to.

“Geez… Just get your tea and go to bed.”

“I know! You don’t have to tell me, dumbass!”

She stormed toward the refrigerator, opened the door, took out a liter bottle of tea, poured it into a cup—and then plopped into a chair right next to Haruto.

“…Why’re you sitting down?” a quizzical Haruto asked.

“Wh-why do you care? I just feel like sitting down and having some tea!”

“…Really?” he asked as he began sipping his Bierblomme again. The ice had begun melting, making it feel softer in his mouth, but it was still a stiff drink. His sister next to him did the same thing, lightly sipping at her tea even though it was ice-cold from the fridge. She was a total brat, but he had to admit—there was something maybe a little cute about the act, like a mouse nibbling at a seed.

“…By the way,” she said, still staring at her cup.

“By the way?”

“They played the last episode of the anime from your novels just now, didn’t they, Bro?”

Haruto’s face stiffened. “…Did you watch it?”

His sister turned toward him, cheeks tinged with red. “It—it was just running when I turned on the TV! So I just kind of watched it!”

“Really?” Haruto sighed. “…Pretty shitty, wasn’t it?” he self-mockingly added.

“Yeah, it was garbage.” The anger was clear in her immediate reply. “…I don’t like any of your books at all, Bro, so it’s not like I care whether the anime’s garbage or not, but…”

“Hey…”

“…But what was that? It was pure crap. The animation was all janky, the people barely even moved at all, the voice work was amateur at best , the characters and mechs and monsters looked nothing like the originals, the dialogue barely made sense, the conversations didn’t even connect with one another, the plot got all slashed apart, and it’s like, how stupid do you think the viewers even are?! Everyone who made it ought to die!”

“You don’t have to get that angry about it,” Haruto replied, perplexed.

“What?! I’m not angry at all! I don’t give a crap about my brother’s stupid anime! I don’t even think of it as your anime, so it doesn’t matter!”

His sister drained her tea.

“Ugh, just thinking about it pisses me off even more! And why did it go so far away from the original novel from the very first episode? That doesn’t make any sense! All that awkward dialogue gives you no clue what Asao’s thinking, and you have zero idea why Lancelot even picked Asao, so she totally comes off like this loose slut or something!”

For someone who wasn’t interested and didn’t care, seeing his sister accurately point out even minor details like that made Haruto smile.

…She really does like Chevalier, doesn’t she?

“What’re you smiling at me for, Bro?! You see, that’s exactly why people keep on messing around with you! Because you’re always smiling like that!”

Haruto shut his mouth. It was never easy having your little sister call you out on something you suspected might be the case.

She was merciless, paining his ears and stabbing at his heart with her words, but weirdly, he never found it maddening or frustrating. In fact, he could feel his heart lighten a little. It felt kind of like it had three months ago, at the anime premiere, when Miyako Shirakawa cried right alongside him. Perhaps Haruto’s sister realized that he was too deeply involved as the story creator to openly lash out against the anime he worked on, so she was playing that role for him, never pulling punches and always putting her emotions out in the open.

Maybe, Haruto realized for the first time, having someone angrier than you about your work can save you as much as having them cry with you about it.

Without thinking about it, Haruto brought his hand to his sister’s head, roughly tousling her hair a little.

“Wh-what’re you doing, you dumbass?!”

“Er, um, nothing…”

He hurriedly brought his hand back. His resolve was firmer now. He had to say it.

“…But just you wait. It’s gonna go better next time. I won’t let things turn out that awful ever again.”

“……”

She gave him a blank look for a few seconds, only to have her face redden yet again.

“Aaahh! Well, no duh! If you make that kind of garbage anime again, I’ll never let you hear the end of it…so…so try harder next time, all right?!”

Then she stood up, blew Haruto a raspberry, and left the living room. Watching her go, Haruto couldn’t help but feel a tad lost.

I thought there was absolutely nothing good about having a little sister…but…